The Lady of the Earrings
by Imladviel
Summary: A Lord of the Rings parody. Someday I will continue this. Until then, enjoy the chaotic life of Robbit maiden Frida Gaggings, darling of the Shirwood forest, the spoiled heiress of Gagg End.
1. Dedication, Introduction, Prologue

**Dedication:**

Although this is not a movie-based parody, I would like to dedicate this story to Peter Jackson and his crew at New Line Cinema. For two reasons:

1. I love the movies.

2. I get an unique opportunity to say:

Elijah 'Lij' Wood - you'd be even cuter without the blue contact lenses.

Orlando 'Orli' Bloom – Before I saw you on the screen I had no idea elves could be sexy. 'Blood has been spilt this night.' …ahem.

**Introduction to a Parody**

(Parody of an Introduction)

_Warning: Low Joke Content on this page._

I know it's customary that the introduction be written by someone else, not the author. In this case, I write it myself, because I am not _exactly_ the author. She is Joanne Renee Growling-Toluene, hereafter referred to as J.R.G.T.; and she is imaginary. It takes an imaginary person to re-tell what I'm about to re-tell. No sane person today would wish change more words than the LORD found righteous souls in Sodom of the perfect story known as 'The Lord of the Rings.' Even J.R.G.T. isn't actually changing it – she lives in an imaginary twentieth century where the original was never written.

Miss Toluene is a flunk-out philology student and a waitress. That's all that is publicly known of her in her world. In ours, I can explain the origins of her name. Joanne is the French version of my own middle name and teen-age alias. Renee she gets from a friend of mine, Growling is anyone's guess, and 'Toluene' is what my ancient computer's spell-check program used to offer every time I wrote 'Tolkien'. Before the creation of this story, the computer had a nervous breakdown. Sadly, it will never recover. The first draft of this story was written in a notebook with red silk covers.

This story is meant as a respective, good-natured parody. I leave the obscenities (well, some of them) and bad taste drug jokes to Americans. Myself, I prefer the British sense of humour. A British-school humorist laughs at everyone, but he is lovable because he begins and ends by laughing at himself. His American colleague, hovever, takes himself seriously and never laughs at whoever pays his wages. He is considered to have good taste if he manages to steer clear of dozens of taboos: ethnic groups, the disabled, and all the other 'different' people you-simply-don't-laugh-at. However, he _does _laugh at women, overweight people, alcoholics, Europeans and other foreigners, unless they happen to be 'ethnic'. As far as I understand it, Anglo-Saxons aren't ethnic; everyone else is. In America, humour is a serious industry and political correctness is applied to everything. In Britain, jokes are jokes, not even the Queen and God are safe from them nor would they wish to be for both have a sense of humour. The joker gets a joker's wages but he also gets a joker's freedom – the 'court jester' tradition of the Middle Ages lives on.

Imladviel, editor of Reality

End of serious text. The fun begins approximately now.

Prologue:

**1. Concerning Robbits.**

Robbits are not, contrary to popular belief, related to rabbits. Well, not much in any case. There is slight suspicion concerning the ancestors of certain Long-Ears families. Robbits come in three varieties of which the Long-Ears are the most common due to their customary large families. The other two varieties are the Nimblefingers and the Hairies.

The natural dwelling of a robbit is a hole underground. Preferably one with a low percentage of worms in the walls, which is acquired by lining the earthen surfaces with wood or stone. It can be very inconvenient to have worms dropping from the rafters onto your dining-table. However, paneling and cut stone are expensive, particularly in a society that doesn't produce either, so the poorest robbits make do with old badger holes with dry rushes on the floor. Some Hairies even consider fried worms a nutritious delicacy.

Robbits never cut trees – they live in harmony with the nature of their homeland, the Shirwood. Their main industries are hunting and gathering. This is, however, not considered acceptable by other peoples, mainly because these peoples are thought by robbits as prey and their property as bounty. The Long-Ears are specialized in begging. Their strategy is to beg relentlessly until the victim gives what they ask, which only causes them to beg for more. Some are rumoured to fortify their pleas by flaunting weapons or even taking hostages, but most Long-Ears are placid to the point of boring. They have learned to farm, but dislike weeding and never plant anything in straight rows if they can avoid it, so their gardens look like wild meadows. The harvest is not spectacular but they do produce tasty, if small, carrots and a variety of apple known as Shirwood Sweet-and-sour. On bad years they are known to eat the weeds as well as the crops. The Long-Ears are vegetarians but they keep it a secret from outsiders, and they hunt animals for the skins and sell the meat to other robbits. They are the poorest because of the size of their families, and because the current situation makes it impossible to travel outside Shirwood to beg as they once did in great numbers.

The Nimblefingers, true to their name, are notorious burglars and pickpockets. Their holes are decorated with foreign textiles and mismatched furniture. Most often they prey on outsiders or each other, being too rich to bother with Long-Ears property and too wise to disturb the Hairies. In the past they used to travel farther, but since the whole robbit race was outlawed they are confined to Shirwood. The area has a bad reputation among travellers although the Ancient Road goes right trough this forest. Sensible people such as Sober Elves avoid this section of the road, taking instead a roundabout through such safer areas as Fiery Drake Lake and Widowmaker Ford, or the Spider Marshes and the Goblin Mines. The game of robbits, therefore, consists mostly of Drunk Elves, the less well-armed type of dwarf, humans, the occasional lonely goblin or even a troll or two.

All robbits love peace, but the Hairies cherish it so much they wish to be the only ones in possession of it. To this end, they have become bandits. Their usual tactic is jumping from trees upon passers-by, achieved by patience and an efficient camouflage. They disguise themselves as growths of moss and fungi. A typical Hairie looks like that most of the time anyway. They have tangled beards and hair they use as most people use pockets, only more efficiently. It's very difficult to remove someone's valuables from his beard when he's not looking. Nimblefingers avoid offending Hairies because they, although smaller than your average dwarf, are skilled fighters. Indeed, most Hairie homes sport a variety of weapons stored on the walls and even the children know how to use them.

These days, robbits never leave Shirwood – alive. There is a large amount of silver paid for a robbit head in all civilized lands and the nearest uncivilized ones as well. However, if a bounty hunter happens to bring some less vital body part, he gets a flogging. All he has succeeded in is creating one more maimed individual to join the Long-Ears beggars. Robbits are hard to find and hard to catch – unless they find you. In that case they have the advantage of numbers or surprise. In the case of Nimblefingers, the surprise happens only when you notice the loss of your purse, horse, and on some occasions, your clothes. It is very unwise to take a bath in Shirwood. Robbits never do. Indeed, they are afraid of deep water and if you try to wash one, it faints. So far enemies haven't discovered this, mainly because they have other things in mind when they meet the inhabitants of Shirwood than washing them. Such as 'What happened to my squire?' or 'Why is there a dirty dwarf eating my supper?'

**2. Concerning Cigarettes**

Robbits love smoking. Even the women and some of the children. It is of course an unhealthy habit; but the expected life span of a robbit is too short to worry about things like cancer. If you survive your infant years but die of sickness in a bed you are considered lucky by Shirwood standards. The Long-Ears argue that all herbs are by nature healthy, and if not, yellow teeth and an ugly cough are part of a convincing beggar's appearance. The Nimblefingers do it mostly from habit, as they like to keep their fingers busy even when relaxing, and rolling cigarettes is more polite than practicing knife tricks. Hairies prefer large cigars and claim smoking helps to get tacky tangles in one's beard. Some Hairie women are reputed to have grown beards by smoking excessively. This cannot be confirmed as their families immediately sold them to passing circus groups.

**3. Concerning Terra Medimarinean**

An imaginary realm. All you need to know is in the map included. If there is no map, write an angry complaint letter. It won't help, but you may feel better.

**4. Concerning Yvonne**

Yvonne is the favourite goddess of all elves. She is connected to nature and fertility. Yvonne's titles are, among others: Mother Earth, Moon Goddess, Lady of Plenty, Venus, and (among robbits) the Harvest Lady. Her festivals are: 1st of January – the Burial of the Lady, 1st of April – the Waking of the Virgin, 1st of July – the Wedding of Yvonne and Alabaster, and 1st of October – Harvest Cradle. These are celebrated all over the civilized Terra Medimarinean.

**Concerning Elves**

There are two types of Elves found in Terra Medimarinean: Sober Elves and Drunk Elves. You can tell the difference by their speech and song. Wizards and witches are mostly elves by birth.


	2. The Richest of Robberton

**One: The Richest of Robberton**

Robberton is a village you could walk through without noticing it's there. All the dwellings are underground and the disguised chimneys only smoke at nighttime. You might see a lot of holes between stones and tree-roots, but that isn't so strange in rough woodland terrain full of animals that live in holes. Technically, robbits are not much different from animals. After the village, you'd meet a lot of 'homeless' child beggars with large cute eyes on their dirty faces. They would crowd the path so that you couldn't proceed without stepping on them, and if you did, you'd be amazed how fast they were replaced by angry mothers and fathers threatening you with various sharp-pointed garden tools. As mentioned, Long-Ears don't weed their carrot patches, but they do keep their tools very sharp.

The definition of a proper village includes an inn. Like the houses, the Robberton inn is underground. All you'd see is a dry old oak with lewd images and rude words crudely carved on the trunk, although not above human waist level. The biggest image is the robbit equivalent of a sign above a door – it features a woman in a shameful position. The name of the place is the Inn Between.

Robbits farm no grain and have no beer or bread except what they steal or beg. Their wine is made of Sweet-and-sour apples and forest berries, and they also brew a kind of mead from potatoes and carrots.

One fine autumn evening, at the Inn Between, old bandit-turned-beggar Hamburg Yankee was talking about his third most favourite topic, his employer Guido Gaggings. The two others are better unmentioned.

'I swear, it's no honest begging-gets he's got his hole stuffed with. Beggars get no jewelled cups or sharp swords, unless the king happens to pass -'

Hamburg was interrupted:

'Hookie Yankee, it's no king that sits his dirty backside on the throne for all he wears a crown. You'd better not call the usurper 'king'.'

The speaker was the only politician of Shirwood, a place that therefore has no politics because the minimum of politicians required for proper politics is two. The youth is called Robin Hopper, because of a peculiar running gait shared with several other members of the Major family. Hamburg scolded him:

'C'mon, Robin! I'll talk outlands stuff if it gets my cup filled, if not I'll talk whatever the more generous folk like.'

This got him an instant refill of wine and another promised, because his audience had an interest, professional or otherwise, in the fortune of Guido Gaggings.

'Thankee kindly, genteelmen. No interruptions now and I'm sooner done than drunk. As I was saying, unless_ the usurper _happens to pass through, a Long-Ears such as Master Gaggings'd never get his hands on the kind of wealth he obviously has. Treasures by the coffin and paintings on the walls! Fancy clothes that actually are his size, with matching gold buttons. And matching is the furniture as well, believe or not. It must be that he's inherited not only the looks but also the skills of his mother's Taker relatives – although where precisely has he got his hands on such property I'll never guess. Nimblefingers indeed, the whole lot at Taker Manor, the girls as well it seems.' Hamburg Yankee was a Hairie, although his beard had lost much of its former volume. What he actually _did _to earn his keep from Master Gaggings people had learned the hard way not to ask. As long as they had unanswered questions, Hamburg could be sure of an audience at the Inn Between.

'Mind you, I have never actually seen him do a single unpeaceful act, unless one counts that he lodges visitors – outsider visitors such as dwarfs and that funny wizard of his. Never thought I'd see anyone claiming to be a wizard with such a young face and a total lack of beard. Then there is the strange business with that Frida girl. A pretty little robbit-lass, but hardly a relative, a cousin's daughter or somesuch and raised by the Wineweenies at that. Not exactly respectable company for a bachelor to live with. I wonder what reasons Guido had for adopting her – no money sure was involved, as the Wineweenies of Willowbanks are such a clumsy lot they hardly deserve to be called Nimblefingers at all. The only thing they're rich in are good looks and Frida Gaggings has enough for a beggar's dozen of Hairie girls.'

'Aw, that's no' fair!' Exclaimed the waitress, one Gidda Hairylegs.

'But no more talk of Frida, because she isn't the one celebrating a fiftieth birthday tonight. We all know how rare that is for a robbit – at least all of him, as my right hand can testify.' Hamburg, pushing sixty, banged the table with the hook attached to the stump of his arm.

'No, old Guido is having a party. A secret one, which means you haven't heard about it from me. Some dwarfs came up, and the wizard fellow, but that was only to be expected. What I haven't figured out is why he invited a bunch of Frida's pals as well – such as Richie Taker and Willie Sacker, yes, the Sacker-Gaggings heir himself, and Wendy Wineweenie, Frida's cousin. Even my kids got an invitation, but not me, not old faithful Hookie. You understand now why I must drown my sorrows. Innkeep! More wine!'

'Let's see your money first.'

'Put it on Master Guido's account. It's his fault I'm here.'

'Mr. Gaggings has no account.'

'Whadda queer old geezer.' Hamburg looked around expectantly with his best proud begging-stare.

'I'll pay if you tell us more about the foreign guests.' The offer came from Robin Hopper.

'Who cares for them? We wanna hear about the ladies!' Someone shouted, but as there was no liquid exclamation mark following, Hamburg refused to notice.

'Well, there were four dwarfs I saw and some rich ones I didn't, if you get my drift. These four wore armour and carried axes and warhammers. And before sunset the wizard came along, knocking the secret knock and everything, so I thinks it's one of my kids and opens the door saying 'Sammy, how many times have I told you -' but I looks up and a bit more up since he's so tall, the wizard is. He smiles at me and finishes my sentence with '- not to play with the door? I might know if my name was Sammy, but it isn't.' And he crawls in past me without as much as introducing himself. I shout him the directions to the dining room, as it's the only one big enough for him not to break things. When I get there I find the dwarfs have wandered there although I specially told them to stay in the kitchen. I really don't like this young wizard. Gunbald was better although he only ever did fireworks. The new one's good at getting folk into trouble but not out of it, some say he made Guido the richest gent in Robberton. Much good did that do him; I'm the only servant he ever had that didn't steal a thing from him. And do I get invited to the party? The rich are never generous. I wonder why he invited Taker and Sacker, though. Worst team of burglars that have plagued this village in my lifetime. I know young Sacker has ears to shame a donkey, but his heart is in his purse. Taker ain't bad as Nimblefingers come, but has trouble keeping his fingers off other people's property. Always generous, though, that must be said for Richie Taker. And a genteelman with girls, if mine are to be trusted. Not that he's looking their way; it's Frida Gaggings he's got his eyes on. The only thing Sacker has eyes for is Gagg End; his mother's got the whole family obsessed with the place. Every week or so they try some stupid plan to drive Guido and Frida from their home – last time it was by smoking them out! They did get out, by the back door, and arranged a neat ambush with my boys.'

'Hamburg! You're dawdling! The cup you hold was for telling about the foreigners.'

'It's also very much empty. Fill it, and my words are yours, master Robin.'

'I will, and you had better tell me everything you know. Innkeep, more wine for old Hookie!'

'Thankee kindly. The dwarfs, and wizard too, you say? Well, the dwarfs were a horrible lot. Not the worst sort, mind you, such as will kill you as soon as they sees you, but such as would not know what 'surrender' means. Fight back, they would, if anyone was foolish enough to attack. You see, they had helmets on with horns and spikes that would pierce an honest Hairie who was doing his business right through before he could say 'Drop yer weapons!'…' The more Hamburg Yankee drank the more he fancied his old profession.

'And as for the wizard, he's the exact opposite of old Gunbald. Young, aloof, thin and beardless, foreign manner'd and a complete jerk. May be as wise as Gunbald was simple, but his wisdom's like those dwarf helmets – a cruel sharp spike in his head. Gunbald had a heart, a greedy and impolite old bastard heart, the sort of heart this heart of mine could have a drink with!' Hamburg thumped his chest so enthusiastically that he actually spilled some drops of wine on his hand - the left one, since the hook was no good for thumping or holding a cup. He licked them off.

'Did he bring a weapon?' Robin asked.

'Of course he did. You think he could get this far into Shirwood unarmed? Are my relatives squirrels or what? A weapon, aye, in addition to a staff with a head fit for a club – not a society I mean but the sort you hit folk with – in addition to that, he had the longest sword I ever saw a wizard carry.'

This caused a lot of conversation in the bar room.

'Were there magic runes on it?'

'Stupid, it must have been inna hilt!'

'No, maybe he brandished it!'

'Did what?'

'Bran-dis-hit – like this.' The speaker demonstrated with an imaginary blade.

'Was it on the left-hand side?'

'Are you sure it was a sword not a sabre?'

The questions came from eager young robbits who were unfortunately not wealthy enough to offer Hamburg a drink. Robin Hopper appeared to be lost in thought. Old Hookie Yankee stood up and bade good night to everyone. To his disappointment nobody asked him to stay for one more drink. He walked up Robberton Hill, a tree-covered ridge with a row of hidden holes beside the grand, luxuriously hidden entrance of Gagg End Manor. If he strained his ears he could hear the faint echoes of laughter and song drifting up through secret chimneys and airshafts. He sighed.

Inside Gagg end, the night was young and the fun just beginning. There were pretty Nimblefinger dancers, with long hair on their scalps only, and skilled Long-Ears musicians beating a fast rhythm out of their instruments. These hadn't all been drumming instruments when the party had been commencing and the players sober enough to pronounce 'commencing'. The table was laden with as wide a variety of food as possible; food bought from thieves and beggars, and some made in Shirwood. There was Sober-Elven sweetbread, Angry Dwarf Vodka, and some foreign fruit, abandoned by a Drunk Elf, which had a suspiciously mouldy appearance. There was Long-Ear Carrot Cake, Shirwood wine, wild berries, and smoked horse steak made from a human knight's faithful but lame mount.

Guido Gaggings was having the time of his life, seated beside a goblet of vodka and a tired dancing-girl. The dwarfs were trying to teach everyone a song that contained nothing but twenty different words for 'gold', thirty for 'diamond', and fifteen for 'platinum'. Earlier in the evening, Willie Sacker, who was now unconscious but probably alive under the table, had asked a dwarf named Erotias whether it was true that dwarfs were greedy and avaricious. Erotias' reply had been a barehanded blow hard enough to cause Willie's present state, followed by the words:

'Nothing beats a robbit in greed, unless a dragon does, and in avarice Sober Elves are peerless.'

'It is true, at least, that dwarfs act first and explain later.' Frida had commented.

'Would you like a private sample, miss Gaggings?' At that, Frida had blushed. That was before she and Wendy Wineweenie had a drinking competition. Wendy was now snoring beside the silent Willie.

Frida Gaggings was young, drunk, merry, and the prettiest girl in the room. She was just about to stand on a table to make sure everyone noticed not only these facts but also her new shoes. Too bad her uncle Guido had a similar plan, albeit for a different reason. He was obviously about to make a boring speech or a fool of himself by some other means. Frida hoped he wouldn't sing.

'Good guests, I beg silence!' Stronger words a Long-Ears gentleman could hardly utter. Whatever Guido Gaggings begged, he got. The means were anyone's guess.

'First of all, I thank you for the gifts I've received for my half a century birthday. Second, I beg you remember today is also the day my adopted daughter Frida becomes twenty and thus of age. Remember her with many gifts of friendship! As she is of age, I now name her my heir. Tradition demands I give her a personal decoration to symbolize the transfer of property. Frida, step here and receive my lucky earring from my hand.'

Frida obeyed and reached up when Guido opened the lock of a heavy golden earring. His ear, which everyone had assumed was born lopping, sprang up as erect as the other one.

'Not your hand, Frida, your ear. I want to put it on myself.'

'But I have no holes on my ears!'

'You need none.' Guido sat down on the edge of the table and took hold of Frida's small, humanlike ear with his fingers. He then snapped the sharp spike of the earring through her earlobe.

'Ouch! That hurt!'

'Now you do have a hole. And my lucky earring that I believe is the source of my wealth. Never let anyone take it from you. Frida Gaggings, Gagg End is yours.'

'Thank you, uncle Guido! Are you sure you won't regret this?'

'Why would I – I'm sure you'll let me stay and spend my old age in your care, Frida darling.'

'But – I – you – do you mean I inherit you _today_? Not sometime in the future?'

'Of course, Frida. Didn'tjust say so?'

'Oh, uncle Guido! Thank you!' And Frida kissed her elderly relative on the cheek, causing him to blush.

Frida thought she had never been so happy in her life. Suddenly she was no longer a poor orphan taken in by a relative, but the rightful owner of Gagg End. She would live like a lady, and people would envy her instead of pitying.

'Richie, dance with me! Someone pour a bucket on Wendy!'

'A bucket of what?' A dwarf asked.

'Anything that won't smell too bad, she's too drunk to care! Where is Sammy Yankee when I need a servant?'

'I'll be your servant if you want me to, Frida.' Richie Taker looked her straight into the eyes.

'I'd rather be your friend. Servants are supposed to be silent and obedient, and the Yankee kids are good at that – certainly take after their mother rather than their blabbermouth of a father. We'd have invited him to the party, but he'd spend the next week gossiping about it at the Inn Between. Sammy is actually too obedient to be any company – I bet the whole Yankee lot is in bed by now, since their mother tells them to. Can you think anything more boring? I mean, at nineteen Sammy is no baby but sure behaves like one all the same.'

'Yes, I can. That'd be Tommy Yankee. You noticed he didn't come although you invited him? He told me it was because he was making a new rope and wanted it finished tonight.'

'Really?

'Oh yes, which reminds me that I must warn Willie to follow the path when he walks home. Tommy often tests his traps in the meadow where the Sacker family have a secret hoard.'

'Yes, he's told me. He knows there is a hoard somewhere thereabouts, so he sort of makes bargains with the Sackers he catches.'

'You mean Tommy does it on purpose? I thought he is but a hunter.'

'Well, what would you expect from a relative of Hookie Yankee?'

The music drowned Richie's reply – apparently the band had decided it was time for a traditional robbit victory dance, wild, frenzied, and above all loud. The young Nimblefingers soon had trouble keeping up with Frida's steps. Finally the musicians started another tune, slow and sticky like syrup. There were probably lyrics too, something about forbidden love no doubt, but whoever had stolen the tune hadn't bothered with the sober-elven gibberish. Richie knew an opportunity when it hit him in the face, usually sooner.

'Frida, I'm glad you invited me. Weren't you worried me and Willie might come in business?'

'That's what we invited four dwarf bodyguards for.'

'Ha! So that's why my comrade got what he deserved so fast!'

'Actually, Erotias is not a guard. He is a king. Sort of. Uncle Guido did some favour to him and got the earring as reward.'

Richie reached out to touch the famous golden ornament. Frida shoved him away so forcibly that he lost his balance.

'Hands off, Taker!' And she ran away before anyone would see the tears in her eyes.

Wendy stared after her friend:

'Wha' th' blazes did 'a do, Richie?'

But she got no answer, since Richie was asking the same question himself. He was a burglar, not a pickpocket; surely everyone knew it was a different trade entirely.


	3. Appearances May Be Deceiving

**Two: Appearances may be deceiving**

Frida closed the door of her room behind her. To her dismay, it was opened soon and the wizard entered.

'Leave me alone! All of you!'

'Listen to me, Miss Frida! There is something you must know.'

'Speak up, trickster!' Frida glared at Alfginny the Greyish-brown, as the man had introduced himself earlier.

'First I would like to ask what you are planning to do now.'

'I was planning to have the party of my life, but Richie spoiled that, and then I was planning to sit down and cry a bit, but you spoiled _that_.'

'I meant – what shall you do with your inheritance?'

'Enjoy it, naturally! I'll have a party every week. And I shall invite everyone I want to. And my dress will be the prettiest. And I'll redecorate Gagg End. Paintings on the walls made to look like windows. Frills on the furniture in the parlour. A curtain of beads on the kitchen doorway.'

'I see. How much money did you actually inherit?'

'I'm not sure. There is bound to be loads of it.'

'Unless your uncle Guido has lied to me, there is very little left after this party is paid for.'

'No!'

'Yes. There is nothing left of the dragon gold – he never expected to live this long. Your uncle has been generous and spendthrift. He thought the manor is enough for you – you can marry money or learn a trade.' A trade. Frida shuddered. For a robbit woman, the options were far from honourable. Dancer or tavern wench, thief, or, worst of all, a servant.

'He expects that I will support him, too?'

'Well, he has given you everything you have. You were a poor orphan from Willowbanks when he took you in.'

'All I have, at the moment, is a golden earring. Gagg End is worth nothing unless I can keep it.'

'Is it so expensive, then, to support a hole in the ground?' Alfginny sounded puzzled.

'I mean keep as in not have it stolen from me. Many a robbit would wish to live here and all it takes is to drive us away. But what is your part in all of this?'

'Ah. My part. I game to warn Guido, and he ignored me. There is a bounty on his head ten times the amount of the fee paid for any other robbit head.'

'What for?'

'When he was younger he assisted Erotias to regain his kingdom and send the Dragon back into Angry Drake Lake. At some point of the adventure he found the Earring. Apparently, he also brought himself to the attention of the powers that be. Enough to have 'wanted' posters all around Shirwood with a drawing of young Guido that looks more like a monkey, and a description: 'an ugly medium-sized robbit with a malicious appearance and a large golden earring on its right ear.' You may ignore the picture; bounty hunters will ignore it too. But above it the name Gaggings was written, and the gender of the wanted was not mentioned. Several unfortunates have already been brought dead or alive to the one who posted the posters.'

Frida opened her earring and took it off.

'You think they will come after me now?'

'Quite likely, with that conspicuous red hole on your earlobe. No, I have a better solution.' Alfginny explored his pockets, taking out cigarettes, a tinderbox, some red pills in a bottle, and finally a handkerchief. He opened it, revealing three earrings. Two of them were a pair, big silver crescent moons polished very bright.

'These you will wear hanging in front. Behind them you will wear the lucky earring – and on the other ear, this.'

The third earring was identical with the one Guido had so fondly named 'Jennifer' – although not exactly identical. When Frida took it in her hand it felt light, and she knew it was not genuine gold.

'People will assume that they are a pair.'

'And I'll need three more piercings. Why can't I just put one of those moons in the hole I already have?'

'And put the golden one in your jewellery box, where it can be easily stolen? Weren't you listening: "For this earring, an additional reward of one hundred silver is paid"?'

'Gosh! Maybe I should take it to them and say I tried to get Guido too, but he escaped? That would solve my financial problem quite neatly!'

'You think they would pay anything to a robbit? The one who posted the 'wanted' ads would sell your head to the authorities.'

'Who was it?'

'Someone who serves the Elf-Witch Sharon.'

'The Queen of Hair and Darkness? Sharon the Blonde? What does she want with my earring?'

'It was hers once. One of a pair. Legend says it has magic powers, although Guido never found any. He tried wearing it on both ears and several other places – don't worry, he washed it afterwards – he tried polishing it, speaking to it, and I tried all magic I could. I think most likely the magic only works when one wears both the Earrings. Sharon still has the other one, so we couldn't test that. Guido think the Earring has brought him luck, but to you it so far has brought only misfortune.'

'What should I do?'

'Don't speak of it. Let people forget you have it. Keep it hidden from strangers.'

'Ok. These will help.' She reached for the earrings on the table. However, the wizard rolled them back in the handkerchief.

'Tut-tut, girl! Did I say I was _giving_ them to you? You must learn that everything has a price.

'What do you want? You know I have no money.'

'I want you to follow my advice.'

'That depends on what it is.' Frida wanted the earrings. The half-moons would divert attention from the shabbier pair better than anything she might find in Shirwood, and there was no-one she could trust to make a replica of Jennifer and keep the secret. Cheap replicas and forgeries were the speciality of robbit smiths, but so was gossip. Besides, how could she pay a smith? New earrings, on the other hand, would hold up the illusion that she still had wealth.

'First, let me tell you more of Sharon's Earrings. They are not all she made.

'Four bracelets for the Sober Ones who love to cry

Eight crowns for the dwarf-kings on their seats of stone

Ten torques for handsome men chosen to die

Two Earrings for the Lady on her dark throne

In the land of Barren where the dragons lie

Two Earrings to rule them all, Two Earrings to find them

Two Earrings seduce them all and in submission bind them

In the land of Barren where the dragons lie

'The ten dread Dragonriders are mortal men raised from the dead. They are zombies controlled by ten collars that are magically bound to ten rings on Sharon's fingers. She calls them the Ring-puppets. She also made eight crowns and sold them at a bargain price to the eight ancient Deep Kings of the dwarfs – and the evil power of the crowns summoned dragons to destroy the hidden kingdoms. Some of the dragons bought the treasure to Sharon, most kept it. One of the latter was the Drake of the Lake. Four was the number of bracelets she gave to her unsuspecting elven lovers – no one knows what happened to those. And two were the Evil Earrings she made for herself. Some say their power was what made her the Empress of Barren, giving her power even over dragons.

'Fortunately, the valiant King James Giantkiller led an army known as the Last Dalliance against Sharon and the might of Barren. James died and his magical sling broke. Richard, son of James, tried to avenge him, and cut off part of Sharon's left earlobe with an arrow aimed at her head, and caused the Earring to fall. His squire picked it up and stole it while Sharon was busy cursing Richard, making his wife barren and him the last king of his line, and promising he would die before sunset. He did, killed by a healer woman he tried to rape in the panic of getting an heir… this is part of the reason history refers to his army as the Last Dalliance.

'As for the squire, a dishonest fellow by name of Sneakers, well, he was a robbit. One of the few in the army, and the one to blame for his whole race being outlawed. Not only was he a thief, but he left his master when he most needed him. Have you ever heard of Sneakers? You see, nobody ever found out where he took the ring.'

'There is a story told to frighten kids at Willowbanks, about a ghost who lives under Last Hope Bridge. It wears an earring, and is called by names such as Clip-Clop or Sneaky-Weaky.' Frida volunteered.

'I can understand such rhyming in a children's story – but why Clip-Clop?' Alfginny asked.

'The story goes like this: Children, never try to rob anyone by hiding under the bridge. That is the home of Sneaky-Weaky the Ghost. He is invisible, and when he sees you, he escapes to the bridge. Then he makes a sound like a horse crossing: 'Clip-clop'. And when you step up, brandishing your weapons, and demand 'your money or your life, sir knight', you see nobody. And then you feel his hands around your neck, and he says: 'Got you, clip-clop! Why are you hiding under my clip-clop bridge? I'm the only one allowed to hide there.' And then he steals your weapons, and if he is hungry, he kills you and eats you.'

'Ah. An educational story. Why does he keep saying clip-clop?'

'I've always thought that has got something to do with being a ghost. Being invisible, he needs some feature so you know it's him. Everyone thinks he is a robbit ghost. Sometimes he takes women and…'

'I see. And that would be how you know an invisible ghost has an earring. Sounds like Sneakers, well enough. For Sharon cursed whoever had stolen the Earring, saying: "May his suffering never cease and may horses walk on his tongue and may his kin and family never see him again." I guess she should have chosen her words better – I bet she never guessed she granted him immortality and invisibility, with the minor harm of a speech impediment that makes it impossible for Sneakers to sneak. After so much time – four hundred years or so – almost every robbit must be somehow related to him.'

'You speak as if he really exists.'

'He does. Erotias said he stole the Earring from a troll under a bridge. And he had entered Shirwood across Last Hope Bridge.'

'A troll? I thought you said he was a robbit?'

'A thee-hundred-and-seventy-year-old robbit. Not a pretty sight, I tell you.'

'Is he still alive?'

'Probably. Was when I saw him. It's not him you have to worry about, unless you happen to cross the bridge, which I would not suggest since there is one of Sharon's 'wanted' posters right on the other side.'

'How come Sharon only put up the posters now?'

'She had no idea who had taken the Earring, or where. But your Uncle Guido has bragged more than is good for him, and Sharon knows his name. If the Dragonriders were not unable to cross running water, all of Shirwood would be a wildfire-ravaged waste by now. Dragons alone are not reliable enough for such a mission. Are you ready for my advice?'

'Yes, Alfginny.'

'Take some friends and leave as soon as you can.'

'Where could I go? Outside Shirwood, I am an outlaw.'

'The Sober Elves and the lords of the humans are about to change that – on one condition. You must help them defeat Sharon.'

'I will. If there is some profit for me in it.'

'That I can guarantee. I will take this message to Riverdwell. A year from now, I'll come for you or send a message. If someone comes after you, leave your home and Shirwood if you can.'

'How will I get about in the outside world?'

'The silver earrings are a symbol of Yvonne, the moon-goddess. All elves you meet will help the bearer of those, but humans know nothing about it. Not since the days of James have humans joined elves in conspiracies and secret societies, and the Moon Sisters are no exception.'

'Moon Sisters? So it's elf-women you talk about? How come you know so much, Alfginny? Do you have an elven sweetheart?'

'No. Before I became a wizard, I was an elf. An elf named Ginger.'

'Ginger? But that's a girl's name!'

'I was a woman. Still am, under these robes and my wow of celibacy. This is my secret. Keep it, and I'll keep yours. Not only the Earring, but also the fact that you have no money, which is by far the more dangerous one here in Robberton.'

'Okay.'

'That's it? You actually understood me the first time round? You were never known as a smart girl before, Frida.'

'Robbits aren't smart, we're cunning. And I have a cunning plan concealing the hiding of the Earring. You wouldn't happen to have another false one?'

'As a matter of fact I do. Bought them in a pair. What do you need it for?'

'A decoy. I thought it might be useful to frame someone I don't like. Get everyone in Robberton confused.'

'I'll give you the fake on one condition: promise that Guido comes to no harm.'

'I promise.'

Just then, the bed started snoring. There was nobody in it, of course.

'What have we here?' Alfginny lifted the coverlet to peek under the bed. There was a girl sleeping on the floor.

'Whose bed is this, Frida?'

'Mine. It's my room.'

'So what is she doing under it?'

'Looks like sleeping to me. I have no idea why, though. Samantha likes soft cushions as much as the next person. Hey Sammy! Wake up!' Frida prodded her arm.

Samantha blinked and yawned, then tried to sit up and banged her head on the bottom of the bed.

'What am I doing under a bed?'

'That's what I was going to ask you! It's my bed.'

'Oh. That explains some of the stuff I see hidden under the mattress.'

'None of your damn business, Sammy. Get out of there and explain. Why were you hiding there?'

'Well, I was dusting the bookshelves and I found this book of elven anatomy, with illustrations, and I knew I wasn't supposed to be reading that kind of stuff, so I hid in your room. When the doorknob turned, I panicked and dived under the bed. I thought you'd be alone and that you'd go away soon. I heard you talking, but only because I couldn't help it. I was tired and I must have fallen asleep.'

'How much did you hear?' Alfginny demanded.

'I heard that Frida has no money and there are 'wanted' posters for Guido put up by Sharon the Bitch herself, and a lot of stuff about magic jewellery, and Clip-Clop the ghost, I think that is when I fell asleep because I saw a dream about him.'

'And what do you think of these things?'

'Does this mean we won't get our wages this month?'

'I'm not sure. If you like, I'll give you the book of elven anatomy instead. It should fetch a reasonable price. But you must promise not to tell anyone.'

Sammy blushed, clutching the book in her arms.

'I promise.'


	4. Choose Your Company Carefully

**Three: Choose your company carefully**

The truth was that Frida was not completely bankrupt. If nothing else, there were a lot of valuable objects in Gagg End. Silver and crystal, jewellery, art and furniture – all could be sold. However, it would not last forever. The servants had to be paid, the food bought. To fire the servants would be the same as to admit her shame in public. That didn't suit her plans.

It didn't take Frida long to devise her cunning plans. First, she went to the village of Takerbury, to talk with Richie Taker. His family lived in a huge complex system of tunnels with one publicly known – and well guarded – entrance and several secret ones. Frida made her way to the public entrance, which looked like a shallow hole under the roots of a dead tree. One had to step in before one saw the tunnel continuing at a right angle. In the tunnel a guardsman leaned to the whitewashed wall, smoking a cigarette. Frida knew there would be other, less relaxed, guards, unseen but close at hand.

'Who are you and are you expected?'

'Frida Gaggings. My name should be on the list of friends.'

The guard fumbled in his pocket and produced a grimy piece of paper, which he read with great care and the help of a finger. He did not, however, mumble the names aloud – such information would be valuable for the enemies of the Taker family.

'It is. Enter and be welcome.'

The corridor took several turns before opening to the house itself. There was a railing attached to the wall to help guests find their way in the darkness. Finally Frida entered the hall, a large room illuminated by lanterns. There was a table with a bell on it. Frida rang it and in a moment a serving-maiden hurried into the room.

'Hello, miss. How can I help you?'

'I've come to see Richie Taker. Is he home?'

'Which one?'

'What do you mean, which one?'

'There are four with that name in the family.'

'Oh. I mean Lord Taker's eldest son.'

'Gosh! Yes, he's home. I'll take you to him at once, miss…?'

'Gaggings. Frida Gaggings.'

The girl took one of the lanterns and led the way through shadow-filled corridors and echoing, empty halls, now and then punctuated by the sounds of life and other servants or family members with lanterns of their own passing them on their errands. The girl stopped one of the servants to inquire for master Richie's whereabouts and heard that he was most likely to be found in the library.

The library of Taker Manor was a vast, dark room. The walls were covered with high shelves full of books, the central floor was strewn with tables and chairs. A candelabrum with seven branches illuminated one table with its glow. There, the young heir to Taker Manor studied an ancient manuscript.

'Hi, Richie. What are you reading?'

'Frida! I was, um, that is…' he closed the book and rose to greet her. But Frida was not so easily distracted. In a flash she was at the table, looking at the gilt lettering on the leather cover.

'The Frescoes of Tourdegard. Studying art, are you? Or trying to figure out a way to steal wall paintings?' She opened the book at random. It revealed a sketch of a palace wall decorated by the dancing shapes of scantily clad human maidens.

'I see. Any pictures of men in here?'

Richie Taker blushed bright crimson. Frida browsed the pages until she found the picture of a naked young male fending off a huge boar with a pike.

'Wow! Such a long… spear!' Frida grinned. She had always enjoyed teasing boys, Richie in particular.

'Did you come all this way to comment on my taste in art?'

'No. I came to make a proposal.'

'A proposal?' Richie was shaken – in fact he was still shaking.

'Yes. Because I knew you'd never get round to making yours. I know you're in love with me. So here's what I suggest. I'd like to move in with you.'

'Here, in Taker Manor?'

'Yes. I can't marry you. Because a year from now I'll have to leave Shirwood.'

'Leave Shirwood?'

'Yes. Don't tell anyone.'

'I'll come with you.'

'It will be dangerous.'

'All the more reason, then.'

'All right. Anyone you can trust who could come with us? And don't say Willie Sacker, I wouldn't trust him to steal a squirrel's nuts.'

'I wasn't going to. I was thinking of my cousin, Larry Wineweenie.'

'Wendy's brother? That fat sluggard?'

'He's not what he seems.'

'Very well. I'm taking Samantha Yankee.'

'You're really serious - about all this?'

'Yes. I'll need people to take care of Uncle Guido while I'm away. I'm going to have to sell Gagg End – I can't leave him to fend off the Sacker-Gaggingses alone, not at his age. So I come to you for help. One day this will all be yours. Surely there is room for one elderly distant relative, especially if he also happens to be, practically speaking, your father-in-law.'

'You are a scheming little vixen, Frida. And don't think I can't see that you're not telling me the whole truth. But Yvonne help me, I do love you.'

'So it is agreed?'

'It is agreed. When shall you move in?'

'As soon as I can, Richie dear.' She stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, then kissed him full on the mouth. He responded with passion.

Frida left Taker Manor with a devious little smile on her face. She knew she was using Richie shamelessly for her own ends. She dulled her conscience by reminding herself that she would make him very happy – at least until he learned she did not truly love him. Maybe she would learn to love him, given time. Right. Maybe pigs would learn to fly, given time. Richie was only eighteen, and looked even younger. He was at least three inches shorter than Frida.

That winter, Frida Gaggings sold Gagg End to the Sacker-Gaggingses. She got a fair price for it too, for they had no means to guess that soon it would almost certainly have been theirs for the taking. She gave one false earring to them as a symbol of the bargain and began to hide her own with the silver moons. Then she moved her belongings, and old Guido, into Taker Manor. She took Sammy with her to serve as her lady's maid. Her other servants, mostly members of the Yankee family, she paid off with generous gifts, expressing her deep regret that she had no further use for them.

Guido was given a large room with a fireplace of his own. Frida decorated it with things brought from Gagg End. The old robbit was not satisfied, however.

'I'm too old to leave my home. Why couldn't we stay at Gagg End?'

'Because we couldn't afford it! You have only yourself to blame, wasting your money like that! I should have sold you to the Sacker-Gaggingses too, said you were part of the parlour furniture!'

'How dare you speak to me like that?'

'How dare _you_ speak to me like that? It is only by my kindness that you have a home at all! Do you realise what it cost me? Let me tell you. I'll have to spend tonight, and every night after that, in the bed of that horrible Richie Taker! And which is worse, I'll have to pretend to all the world that I love him, or else they will learn that our wealth is gone!'

'Frida, you shouldn't say things like that!' Guido warned her.

'Why ever not?'

'Because you never know who is listening in an ant's nest such as this.' The voice wasn't Guido's.

Frida turned, and saw Richie in the open doorway.

'H-how long have you b-been here?'

'Long enough. Come with me.'

Richie led Frida into the suite of rooms prepared for them, and banged the door shut behind them.


End file.
